Aftermath
by Agent Five
Summary: Tag to 3.03 BDABR. Another stab at the muchneeded patchup scene. Limp!Sam obviously!


**Aftermath**

_A/N: Ok, so we all thought that Bad Day At Black Rock needed the patch up scene and a bunch of authors have already written amazing tags. _

_My bunnies dared me to try my own version - and take a very slightly different path in its conclusion. I had no choice but to obey; they're no ordinary rabbits, y'know. With nasty pointy teeth … (and one of them missing a foot …)_

_Disclaimer: Kripke is the genius inventor. I'm just playing with his toys._

* * *

The air was still and the night suddenly quiet, yet he could still hear the last echoes of the taunting bleats from her car horn as she had sped away. Turning once more in the direction she had left, Dean groaned in dismay and slammed the trunk lid shut. His shoulders sank heavily as he stomped round to the driver's door and climbed into the car.

"That_bitch_ …!" Dean grated, slumping behind the wheel and flopping back against the bench seat. Hearing a hitched breath beside him, he spun to his brother and sighed an apology.

"S'okay." Sam managed a thin smile, his right hand still protectively covering the cotton wadding that pressed into his injured shoulder.

"I oughta take a look at that, Sam."

Sensing his brother moving closer, Sam shook his head quickly. "I'm fine."

"Yeah?" Dean scoffed quietly, a frown settling over his tired eyes. "That's funny. 'Cos, as I recall, taking a bullet in the shoulder is not exactly an enjoyable experience." He saw his brother shudder and instantly regretted what he had said. "Dude, I'm - "

"Forget it." Sam whispered, looking away. "Just drive."

"I'm sorry." Dean urged, "Sam, I didn't - "

"I said forget it!" Sam shouted suddenly, his anger pulled short by a quick gasp and his fingers tightened around the padding over his shoulder. Clenching his teeth, he closed his eyes and gave a slight nod. "Please … just get us to a motel …?"

ooooo

Dumping his duffel on the end of one of the single beds and turning back towards the open door, Dean watched Sam limp into the room and moved in to offer assistance. His brother flinched away and side-stepped his advance, crossing quickly to the bathroom.

Spinning after Sam's hunched form, Dean groaned and threw up his hands. "Aw, come on, man! You need to let me take a look." He watched his brother disappear into the dark en suite and saw Sam give the door a rough kick with his heel. The door swung across the opening but failed to close and Dean saw him sink to his knees. "Sam!"

His right hand slammed into the linoleum floor and his left shoulder sank with the weight of sudden exhaustion. Sam closed his eyes and was vaguely aware of his brother hurrying in beside him as his stomach turned once again and he edged towards the toilet.

"Aw, dude …" Dean sighed in sympathy and stayed back by the doorway as Sam pulled his head over the edge of the bowl and heaved up his stomach contents.

It took a few minutes for Sam to calm and when he did, he remained flopped over the toilet, his forehead resting on his right arm. Dean stood and grabbed one of the thin complimentary hand towels from the rail beside the sink. He ran it under cold water and rung out the excess before easing down beside his brother and laying the wet cotton over the back of Sam's neck. Stubborn pride be damned, he could see how much his brother was suffering and knew what little he could do to help, chick-flick moment or not.

"Thanks …" Sam breathed.

"It's the least I can do." Dean offered lightly, "Seeing as you saved it until after you were out of the car."

Sighing an attempt at amused acknowledgment, Sam pushed himself up from the toilet and reached up to pull the flush handle. He then sank back on his heels and lifted his hand behind his head to grab the towel and drag it slowly across his face.

"Dude …" Dean began carefully. "It's been a mother of a day …"

Sam nodded and slowly turned round. "And then some …" He smiled despite himself and then closed his eyes as he slid his feet from under him to sit down opposite Dean on the cold floor. Leaning back against the bathroom wall, Sam's face was tight as he stretched out his long legs and his right hand again went to the bloodied shoulder of his jacket.

Dean looked on in concern and only now dared to take in the injuries one afternoon of cursed bad luck had inflicted on his younger brother. His chest ached as his eyes travelled from the scraped knees beneath Sam's torn jeans to the burnt sleeve of his jacket, up to the scuffed hand covering the shoulder wound and then finally to Sam's battered face. Beneath the bruises and cuts, Sam's skin was pale and sweat gathered at his temples and on his upper lip. In all, he looked like shit.

Sam blinked his eyes open and suddenly gave a small snort of amusement. "That bad, huh?"

Dean managed a slight grin and shrugged his shoulders. "Yup."

Sam adjusted his position and grimaced briefly, pressing his hand further into his shoulder. "Dude … I so wish I'd stayed in bed today …"

Nodding in agreement, Dean gave a small smile. "Hey. You think Dad might have a flux capacitor in that lock-up?"

"Oh, that'd be awesome." Sam agreed, as merrily as his weary body would allow. "88 miles an hour and the Impala could turn back the clock …" His smile fell away as he saw the raw sorrow in his brother's eyes and their light-hearted analogy seemed at once so painfully wrong.

Dean cleared his throat and appeared to shake off an invisible weight from his shoulders. "I really should look at that wound." He offered and got to his feet.

Sam chanced taking a look at his shoulder and frowned as he lifted his palm away from the hole in his jacket and tried to peer beneath the material. The bathroom light flickered on and he looked up to see his brother returning with the metal lock-box that held their first aid supplies.

Sitting forward, Sam held his breath and let Dean help him slide out of his jacket. He shut his eyes tightly as they removed the sleeve from his left arm, the slightest action jarring the already painful shoulder, and then his shirt was also carefully removed before Sam rested back against the wall to pause for a moment.

Dean frowned in interest as he edged closer, noting the small amount of blood that had soaked into Sam's white t-shirt. Hoping this was an indication that the wound would not be as bad as he imagined, he cut open the sleeve and the shoulder seam of the already ruined shirt. Beneath the cotton, the half-inch hole was dark with clotted blood and Sam's skin pink around the ragged edges.

Sam peered down at the damage and let out a strangled sigh, his right hand quickly going to his abdomen as he looked away.

"You okay?" Dean urged in concern, "You gonna hurl again."

Sam shut his eyes again and let his head thud back against the wall. He gave a slight shake of his head and swallowed dryly.

"This needs cleaning." Dean offered quietly, grabbing the small bottle of alcohol and a packet of gauze. He took his brother's lack of response as permission and opened the gauze to soak it in the disinfectant. Shuffling nearer on his knees, he shrugged slightly and took a deep breath. "This is gonna sting like a son-of-a-bitch."

Sam nodded in understanding and then cried out as the cold liquid met raw skin edges and torn nerve endings. He instinctively pushed Dean's hand away and doubled over, breathing heavily. "Shit …!"

Dean closed his eyes and hung his head. "I'm sorry."

"Jeez …" Sam groaned, his forehead meeting Dean's shoulder and resting there for a moment.

Suddenly filled with the urge to put his arms around his brother but stopped by the open bottle he held in one hand and the vice-like grip Sam had on the other, Dean closed his eyes and swallowed back the lump in his throat.

"Do you really _have _ to do that?" Sam husked. He already knew the answer and was unsurprised by the absence of a reply. After a few seconds, he sat back up straight and let go of Dean's wrist. "This sucks, man …"

"I know."

Sam looked up into his brother's face and found empathy and sorrow in equal measures. Instantly understanding that Dean was as upset by his suffering as he was, Sam nodded firmly. "Okay … just get it over with."

Dean watched in uncertainty as Sam raised his right knee, braced his right hand on his thigh and took a deep breath.

"Do it." Sam confirmed quietly, angling his head away from his shoulder.

His heart racing, Dean again edged closer and wiped at the bullet wound with the alcohol soaked gauze, his face creased with concentration and worry as Sam flinched at his touch. The clots cleared away, Dean gently pressed his fingertips around the edge of the wound to feel for the hard lump of lead that lay somewhere beneath.

"Dean - !" Sam's left arm stiffened, his hand tightening into a fist as he tried to stay still.

"It's okay." Dean soothed, turning back to the first aid box, "The bullet's close to the surface."

Sam nodded and bit his lip, letting his head sink back against the wall.

Taking a deep breath, Dean gently splinted the wound with two fingers of his left hand to pucker the opening and carefully slid the forceps inside.

"Ow!" The breath left Sam's body and he tried to curl around the pain, the fingers of his right hand whitening as they sank deeper in his thigh.

Dean could feel the metal forceps scraping on the bullet casing and he peered closer, trying to grip it firmly.

"Oh, come _on_!" Sam pleaded suddenly, his head lolling forward and his chest heaving.

Sighing an apology, Dean pressed the forceps in further and tried once more to grasp the bullet.

"No! NO!" Sam sat upright suddenly, his breath coming in hiccuped sobs and tears pooling under his eyes. He grabbed Dean's hand and tried to pull the forceps away from the wound.

"Don't, Sammy! Please! I've almost got it!"

"Stop!" Sam choked, falling forwards.

"Okay. It's there!" Dean could feel the secure grasp he very nearly had on the bullet and took his left hand away from the wound. Quickly sliding his free arm around Sam's neck, he pulled his brother against him and tightened his grip on the forceps. "I've got it, Sammy. Let go!"

"No!" Sam choked, pressing his face into Dean's neck. "God, no! Please! Just stop! I can't - "

Dean closed his eyes tightly and gave a sudden jerk backwards, pulling the forceps out and at the same time freeing his hand from Sam's tight grip.

"Fuck - !" Sam sank against his brother and clutched at him with his good arm. His body trembling and his sobs loud in the small room, he sank against Dean and let the tears fall.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean dropped the forceps and heard both them and the bullet clatter onto the floor beside him. Carefully wrapping both arms tightly around Sam, he could feel his own tears building and swallowed them back.

Sam leaned further into his brother's embrace, letting the moment engulf him. His racing mind began to calm and he sighed out a long moan, weary and filled with sorrow.

Hearing the gut-wrenching despair that was only slightly muffled by the material of his jacket, Dean closed his eyes and gave Sam a quick, tight squeeze. "Come on." He urged quietly, clearing his throat. "This needs stitching."

"No." Sam groaned in dismay.

Dean eased back and carefully prized his spent brother away from him. "How about you climb into bed. I'll go get some ice to numb it first."

Sam sighed and sank back against the bathroom wall. "No. It's okay." He slid one foot under him and rocked forward onto one of his skinned knees. Wincing with the effort and the pain that seemed to come from every part of him, Sam got to his feet and swayed groggily.

"Easy, Sammy." Dean caught his arm and helped steady him. He guided Sam through to the bedroom and let him sink onto one of the single beds.

It was a while since Dean had tucked his little brother in for the night. Granted, there had been the odd drunken sprawling that Dean had helped correct but helping Sam kick off his remaining shoe and slide under the covers brought back memories of a time when Sammy had actually been smaller than him. Smiling fondly, Dean perched on the edge of the bed and rested the first aid kit on his lap.

"Make sure it's neat, okay?" Sam smiled cheekily, his eyes heavy as he watched his brother preparing the suture.

"Yes, ma'am." Dean countered, "You want anything tattooed while I'm there?"

Sam laughed briefly and shook his head.

Giving the small wound another clean with alcohol soaked gauze, Dean tried to ignore Sam's small whimper of protest and took a deep breath. Leaning closer and pinching the wound closed, he saw that maybe four of five stitches was all it needed. He fastened the needle in the grip of the forceps and moved in closer.

"God - " Sam tensed and grabbed a fistful of blanket with his free hand. Arching his neck and trying hard to resist the urge to roll away from the pain, Sam closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

Aware that his brother was holding his breath, Dean tugged the suture cotton through the skin edges and tied a firm knot as quickly as he could. Pleased with the neat effect and seeing little bleeding from within the wound, Dean cut the thread and readied the needle once more.

"Shit …" Sam finally blew out the breath he was keeping in and it groaned through his tight lips. "How many more?"

Dean shrugged an apology and continued with the task, deciding haste was preferable to lingering between the inevitable pain of each stitch. Concentrating on the repair and blocking out his brother's tortured reaction was not easy but after a few minutes he was tying the final knot and sat back to admire his handiwork.

"Done?" Sam urged in a dry whisper.

"All finished." Dean confirmed, offering a small smile and smoothing a large plaster over the wound before then clearing away the supplies. Taking the bottle of painkillers from the first aid box and tipping a couple into his palm, he offered both the white capsules and a glass of water to his brother.

Sam's hands were trembling as he took the pills and gulped down the water. "Thanks." With a groan he then fell back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

Dean washed his hands in the small basin and swallowed back the lump in his throat. Watching the rusty water swirl down the drain he suddenly felt nauseous and, with a determined sigh, he uttered a quick prayer that this would absolutely be the last time he washed his brother's blood from his hands.

Turning off the bathroom light and heading back into the bedroom, Dean saw that Sam had thankfully fallen asleep. He perched on the bed opposite and watched his brother for a moment. The rapidly growing panic was unexpected and made his chest tighten as he stared at the softly snoring form of his little brother.

For the past few weeks, Dean had been able to ignore the nagging doubts at the back of his mind. Sam was stronger, focused and more determined since Wyoming. There was no mistaking that there was something different about him but the change had seemed only for the better.

The Yellow-Eyed-Demon would have Dean believe that Sam was wrong. That somehow Sam had not been brought back whole. That something evil had replaced his little brother. But Dean had been content to put Sam's detached, almost icy coldness, down to the fact that the guy had died and been resurrected. That was sure to dampen anyone's sense of humor at the best of times.

The lack of scary nightmarish visions was a welcome relief. Whether because the Yellow-Eyed son-of-a-bitch was toast or because Sam had stopped breathing for a while, Dean didn't care. Seeing his brother so tortured and being powerless to stop it had been too much for him to endure.

But the past few hours had shown Sam in a light that had Dean on the edge of terror once more. His capable, strong brother had suddenly shrunk back to the child that Dean had cared for, protected and practically raised for so many years. Dabbing his skinned knees and seeing the absolute dejection after losing his shoe, Sammy had become something that Dean had prayed he would never again see. He had become vulnerable.

And for the first time since he had kissed the Crossroads Demon's cold lips, he could feel regret creeping in at the edge of his thoughts.

"_You have to save him, Dean …"_

And how could he possibly do that if he was no longer around?

Feeling cold tears trickle down his face, Dean closed is eyes and let his weary body sink back onto the bed. With a heavy sigh, he rolled onto his side and pulled his pillow down to hug it tight to his chest. Suddenly lost and feeling so very empty, he muffled his sobs with the soft cotton and cried himself to sleep.

FIN


End file.
